It’s Remembrance Day here in Canada, and above all it makes me want to express my gratitude to all who serve, and all who have ever served. The precious gift of peace in our time has been dearly paid for through pain and sacrifice.
I hate war and do not wish to glorify it, but that people have risked their lives for a higher ideal and sometimes given their all for that ideal makes my every trouble seem trivial.
Thank you all for your service to your country, from the bottom of my heart.
Well, as I said at work earlier this week: They had to go fight Hitler* and die, all I have to do is wear a flower and remember. It’s pretty good deal for me.
*Not to leave out all the other tyrants and injustices fought against in WWI and WWII and more.
Obligatory posting of In Flanders Fields:
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
— Lt.-Col. John McCrae (1872 - 1918)
We met a friend of mine for brunch today, he came in wearing his father’s old war medals on his jacket. Even though my friend is half Mennonite (from his mother’s side of course) and he generally has Mennonite beliefs, he was still very very proud of his father’s accomplishments, obviously.
At 11:00 the whole restaurant stood still for a minute of silence. That was very touching.
I served in the Forces for 6 months, every Nov. 11, I wear as much of my old uniform as I have left as some sort of connection to those who still put it on every day.
I sometimes wonder if people much younger than I can feel connected to WWII.
My Grandfather Arnold was in the RCAF (maybe the RAF, its hard to be clear on this, kind of a not discussed topic in our house) and was killed in the line of duty when my dad was 6 weeks old. My dad was born 41 weeks after they were married. Grandma was a widow before her first wedding anniversary.My Grandmother was a single parent; my Dad grew up fatherless in the 1940s when it wasn’t common. I think the impact of Dad growing up without his father affected my life, and that of my brother. (Probably especially my brother) Every November I remember standing at the cenotaph, usually wearing a dress and freezing while we listened to the solemn recitations. I still know “In Flander’s Field” by heart.
November 11th is “Arnold Day” to me. Today, and this day every year I kind of “talk” to that Grandfather, in my head, about my life, my family, my dad. I never got to know him, my Dad never knew him, even my Grandmother married him after a whirlwind courtship and a quick marriage. So if any part of us is eternal, maybe he gets to know me.
It is my way of remembering, and thanking. Its a debt that cannot be repaid.
This year I also have a brother-in-law in Afghanistan. I hope his grandchildren don’t have conversations in *their *heads with a grandfather they never meet.
Lest we forget. RIP Arnold. Come back home safely Rick!
I’ve wondered about that, too, Mona. My Dad and his family were interned during WWII- I’m going to tell my kid(s) about it, and maybe take them out to the internment site someday. I want them to know about both the World Wars, and that’s a direct connection. On the other side, my Grandpa was in the RCAF. My Mum was a war kid, and moved around a lot because of his postings.
So I can tell my kids about their grandparents, but by the time they have kids, WWII will be a distant memory, a hundred years back.
On my dad’s side, there were (I believe) seven of his dad’s brothers killed in battle (my grandfather was a marksman and made it out alive). On my mom’s side were Mennonites and Conscientious Objectors (a lot of Mennonites actually went to war anyway, and they were often treated very badly for being Conscientious Objectors, including being put in jail). I take ideas from both sides; I support soldiers and wear a poppy every year, but I don’t support wars.
We watched “Passchendaele” last night, and it was quite an interesting movie. Apparently the term “storm troopers” was used to describe the Canadian troops in WWI. I did not know that.
My Dad was in the Fighting 69th Infantry Division in WWII. They were the first Americans to link up with the Russians at Torgau.
He was a realist who had no truck with talk about glory and honor. He described war as dirty, scary, and cold. He was awarded a Bronze Star and a Purple Heart; as far as I know he never wore them in civilian life.
He was not a great success in civilian life, but my whole life he was always a good man to have in a crisis.
Here’s to him, and to all the good men and women in our crises.
Further poetic tributes:
Here dead we lie because we did not choose
To live and shame the land from which we sprung.
Life, to be sure, is nothing much to lose;
But young men think it is, and we were young.
A E Housman (1917)
And of course:
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
Binyon (1914)